Noble Metals

by L. A. Witt

  By far the biggest target for theft, though, was our tent. We didn’t dare leave our provisions unattended because too many people knew about the device now. A steady stream of stampeders came by to offer John money, coal, land, daughters—anything imaginable for the gold finder. Whenever I was out of John’s sight, people approached me with bribes, trying to persuade me to steal the finder in exchange for a cut of their resulting gold, not to mention similar prices to what they offered John. Offers became more desperate, and rejection was received with increasing hostility. More than one man’s parting words held dangerous undercurrents, and by the end of the second day, rumors were rapidly circulating that John and I would be wise to watch our backs.

  We both saw the three men who’d followed him from Chicago, but only fleeting glimpses. They may as well have been phantoms—slipping into shadows, disappearing into crowds. Maybe we were both going mad with paranoia. Maybe, maybe not.

  Whatever the case, with all the potential thieves running around, it was no surprise when, on the second night, a half-dozen stampeders with whiskey on their breath and greed in their eyes descended on our campsite.

  It happened in the blink of an eye. One minute, we were quietly reading beside our campfire, guns propped against our legs and the device hidden beneath a flour sack between us.

  The next, we were surrounded.

  I was certain we were dead men, but John held his ground. He stood and stepped in front of me, pistol drawn.

  “Robert, stay there,” he said tersely over his shoulder.

  Though the encampment was a noisy, bustling place, the area around our tent was deathly silent.

  One of the men stepped forward, rifle leveled at John. “Enough games. Give us the gold finder.”

  My heart thundered.

  John planted his feet and stared down the barrel of the rifle. “I’m not giving you anything. Go back to your tents and—”

  “Give us the gold finder,” the man snarled from behind the rifle.

  “It’d be useless in your hands.” John didn’t budge even when the man came closer. “It’s not a magic gold finder. It is a scientific instrument.”

  “But it finds gold, doesn’t it?” The menace in his voice gave me chills. A crowd gathered, the air alive with whispers and murmurs.

  “It finds platinum,” John said.

  “And where there’s platinum, there’s gold, ain’t there?” came the reply. “That’s what you told the Mountie. A dozen men heard you.”

  “It won’t find anything in a fool’s hands,” John said coolly. “Go ahead and shoot me. Then you’ll have a worthless device.”

  The man balked. “You’re lying. It’s—”

  “Hey! What’s all this?” a voice broke in. Shifting only my eyes, afraid to move even my head, I turned to the left as a pair of Mounties shoved their way through the crowd. “What’s going on here?”

  “This.” John waved a hand at the hostile crowd. “Now do you see why I didn’t want your inspector revealing my damned device?”

  The Mountie stiffened. He looked at the man holding the rifle. “Is that what this is about? That device?”

  Color rushed into the man’s cheeks.

  Releasing a sharp breath, the Mountie approached the tense standoff. “Give me your weapons. Both of you.”

  John lowered his pistol and handed it, butt first, to the Mountie. The rifle stayed aimed at John’s face.

  “Give ’im the gun,” the other Mountie ordered, and the creak of a hammer drawing back straightened every spine within earshot. When the man with the rifle saw the Mountie’s weapon aimed at his head, he lowered his and then handed it over.

  “Violence and disorder will not be tolerated,” the first Mountie shouted to us and the gathered crowd. “Any man makes a threat to another’s life or property, he’ll be barred from Canada and this encampment, or he’ll be shot where he stands.”

  No one said a word.

  “That’s what I thought.” The Mountie turned to the men who’d threatened us. “Hand over your Chilkoot permits. You’ll be transferred to the other camp tomorrow, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll go south.”

  “What? We—”

  “Enough.” The Mountie glared at them. “Your permits. Now.”

  Everyone was still. I held my breath, certain another confrontation was about to erupt.

  Then the leader of the team exhaled, and his shoulders slumped. “They’re back at our campsite.”

  The Mountie ordered the other to follow them to their camp and revoke their permits. The team who’d invaded our campsite was summarily marched out of sight, and as the crowd dispersed, the Mountie turned to us. “For your safety, I think the two of you should move your camp.” He nodded toward the inspection station. “I’ll have a space cleared beside our station, and then my men will be close by in case there’s a future problem.”

  “Thank you,” John said. “But I think our best bet is to get away from this place and people who know about my device as quickly as possible.”

  The Mountie nodded. “We’ll have you out of here and on the pass as soon as your names come up on—”

  “Our names will come up at the same time as everyone who saw your men reveal my device,” John said through gritted teeth. “You’d turn us out at the same time as them?”

  “You’re welcome to stay after they’ve gone. I can move you down the list.”

  “Down it, but not up it?”

  “No.” The Mountie shook his head and put up his gloved hands. “We aren’t out to put men in danger, and we’ll do what we can to prevent further problems, but I’ll not risk a riot either.”

  John sighed. “Very well. We’ll gather our things and move.”

  Before we started breaking down our campsite, John turned to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “You all right?”

  “Me?” I stared at him. “I’m not the one who had a rifle pointed at me.”

  He shuddered, the first sign he’d given that the situation had frightened him like it would any other man. “Well. Hopefully that will be the end of it. Thank God for Mounties, eh?”

  Thank God for Mounties, indeed. We settled into our new campsite beside the inspection station, and one of them strolled past every hour or so to make sure we were undisturbed. Whenever John or I left to visit the baths or an outfitter, an armed Mountie accompanied us.

  None of this gave me an ounce of comfort. While no one dared bother us here, within the fence and with Mounties watching our every move, we couldn’t stay here forever. Once we left, there would be no one to walk past and ward off trouble with a menacing stare or a hand on a gun. The three who pursued us wouldn’t need to hide, and those who sought to steal the device had nothing to fear but whatever defenses two men could muster.

  It was a strange world, I mused as light from our campfire flickered along the wall of the inspection station. I’d always known greed was a powerful thing, but out here, civilized men turned lawless in their frenzied hunger for the gold that was, we all hoped, not far beyond this pass.

  And John, he was either a man with an admirable drive, or he was a complete fool. Or insane. Perhaps he was a bit of all three. He was willing to fight—fists, bullets, probably a grizzly if it came down to it—to keep safe the instrument that held his last chance to continue his work. The work that meant as much to him as the breath in his lungs and the blood in his veins. I shuddered at the thought of how the other night’s confrontation might have ended had the Mounties not intervened. Not with John surrendering his device, that much I knew.

  “You’re quiet tonight.” His voice startled me.

  I turned, watching the campfire flicker across his face. “I’m curious about something.”

  He lowered his chin a little. “All right.”

  “I’ve now seen firsthand what Sidney’s men and, well, other men will do to get your device.”

  John nodded.

  I slowly drew my tongue along the inside of my lip. “What lengt
hs will you go to?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how far will you go to protect that thing?”

  He held my gaze for a long moment. “This is my life’s work, Robert. I didn’t come all this way to fail.”

  “But at what cost?”

  His eyes trailed from the fire to the flour sacks covering the box between us. Then they flicked up and met mine. “I suppose I’m willing to sacrifice as much as any man who makes this journey.”

  “I don’t imagine many other men in this camp would take a bullet for anything they’re carrying with them.”

  He laughed dryly. “I suppose it depends on what they’re carrying with them.”

  “Are you suggesting you would take a bullet for that thing?”

  He didn’t answer right away. He faced the fire, but his gaze was distant.

  “John.” I resisted the urge to put a hand on his knee. “You wouldn’t really. Would you?”

  “It sounds foolish, I know. It sounds as foolish to my ears as it does to yours. But then I consider what’s left if I lose my work. If I fail in Dawson City, then I’ll lose my funding. If I lose my funding . . .”

  “There are other universities, aren’t there?”

  “There are.” He took a long swallow of whiskey from a flask. “But my reputation is widely known from one to the next.” With an expression made of equal parts melancholy and fierce determination, he stared at the locked box between us. “This equipment is the only chance I have of finding the metal I need, and God only knows if the Klondike has any, let alone enough for my work.” He turned toward the campfire again. Raising the flask to his lips, he added softly, “And it’s only half a prayer’s chance, but I have no choice. If the door closes in Chicago, it’ll take a miracle for another to open elsewhere.”

  Every man had a fever that drove him to make this journey. It shouldn’t have surprised me that John was no exception.

  One of us went by the inspection station every hour to check for updates to the list of mechs authorized to leave for the pass, and finally, shortly before sundown on the fifth day, a Monday, our names appeared on the list for departure on Wednesday.

  As I stepped out of the tent after tucking away the coal, John put a hand on my arm. “Keep this with you, especially after we leave.” His voice was low in spite of the relative privacy of our protected campsite, and he slipped a pistol into my jacket pocket.

  “I already have one. I—”

  “I know.” The firelight cast eerie shadows across his deathly serious expression. “But you’ll be safer if you carry extra. I have the rifle and my own pistol.” He exhaled. “I don’t expect much trouble on the pass. Any man would be a fool to attack another on that mountain. But once we’re past it, we won’t have the Mounties looking over everyone’s shoulders.” He gestured with his chin toward the inspection station. “They’re all that’s stood between the thieves and us, and once we’re out in the open, I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “I’m staying with you, though.”

  John studied me. “We’ll have to be extra vigilant. I’d rather run from ghosts than ignore real danger.” He met my eyes in the low light. “If you decide you want to fall back or go ahead, put some distance between us until we reach the next town, I won’t hold it against you.”

  “You can’t handle the mech on your own. Especially not on the pass.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but I can’t put you in harm’s way, Robert. I simply can’t.”

  I put a gloved hand over his sleeve. “You hired me to help you get the mech to Dawson City. That, and it’s carrying my provisions too. If someone tries to steal your instruments, your chances are better with two of us than facing them on your own.”

  “Yes, perhaps they are.” He shook his head. “But if anyone’s blood is going to be shed over this thing, it should be mine, not yours.”

  “Be that as it may, we’re safer together,” I said. “You can’t control the mech and defend against thieves on your own, and if I go on alone, then I’m ripe for the picking by any bandit or grizzly.”

  John chewed his lip. I thought he might argue, but then he just blew out a breath and nodded. “All right. But keep both guns with you at all times, and—”

  “John.” I squeezed his arm. “I know. I’ll be fine.”

  His lips thinned, and his brow creased with worry, but he didn’t press the issue any further. Instead, he gestured toward the heart of the encampment, where men drank and baths steamed. “Why don’t you go get a drink or enjoy some warmth? Get your fill while we still can.”

  “You probably need it more than I do. You go first.”

  He didn’t argue. The tension in his neck and shoulders was visible from here, the cords standing out like bands of steel, and the hot water would do him good.

  I could wait a little longer.

  From the Diary of Dr. Jonathon W. Fauth — October 14, 1898

  Just as I suspected, word of the device has spread, and Robert and I have become the targets of everything from gossip to robbery attempts. For his own safety, I’ve urged him to again reconsider traveling with me, but he refuses.

  At least for the time being, the device remains securely in my possession, though, locked away in our tent. Robert is well armed, and the Mounties are within earshot at all times, so I can leave for short periods without worrying unnecessarily.

  In spite of the need for constant vigilance, we’re both well aware of the need to rest while we still can. Monotony taxes us just as it does any man, and like everyone in the encampment, we’ve found ways to stave off boredom. Boredom and cold, both of which are in great abundance.

  The luxurious hot baths I have indulged in the last few nights have been a wonderful opportunity to think. Standing in line, lying in the hot water, walking back; my body’s idleness has been most productive for my mind. Just this evening, while up to my neck in steaming water, I thought of a new and perhaps more efficient design for the BT4 semiconductor, the one that’s been troubling me the last half year. If it works as well as I suspect it will, it may eliminate the problems I’ve been encountering with the D192 device.

  But . . . I’ll get to that in a moment. Perhaps this isn’t the place for me to write about this, but if I don’t get these other thoughts off my mind now, I will surely go mad.

  This man I’ve journeyed with, he’s absolutely bewitched me. No, he’s gone beyond bewitching. I cannot put into words what he’s done to me. His gentle quietude is intoxicating, and I find myself loath to leave the campsite, not merely because I hesitate to let him out of my sight with the potential danger, but because I don’t wish to let him out of my sight at all.

  Never have I had a lover with whom I was content to simply lie in bed at night. Yet at the same time, I go mad when I can’t touch him except through clothing. I must have spent half of last night cursing the frigid air that forced us to huddle together only for warmth, and all the while, the very scent and warmth of his body against mine was its own ecstasy.

  He’s driving me mad, I tell you. Oh, I could babble on for pages about how Robert can ask a question—perhaps about the university or Chicago, both of which pique his curiosity—and the mere sound of his voice renders me mute. Just the other night, he asked me about my past lovers, and wouldn’t you know? I couldn’t even remember their names. None of them! It took an embarrassing amount of stammering and racking my brain before I remembered Seamus’s name. How absurd! He must have thought I was a loon, unable to remember the name of the last real lover I’d had.

  I should be thinking of nothing but my goal. Platinum, semiconductors, telescreen communication. But I’m not, am I? No, I lie awake at night thinking of Robert and holding Robert. By day, I think of him, talk with him, simply exist in the same world as him. Oh, of course, I do think about my work—it drives me on even when this journey exhausts me—but my thoughts are not as focused as they ought to be.

  But what is there to be done about it? I cannot simp
ly pretend he isn’t here. I cannot stop myself from wanting him like this, and I certainly cannot—

  Look at me. What a schoolboy he’s made me. Reduced to a babbling fool when I’d had every intention of documenting my earlier thought about the BT4 semiconductor. But there is no time now. Robert is on his way back, so I will finish my thoughts later. For now, I have but one night to spend with him before we are once again underway, and before our journey becomes truly dangerous.

  One last night, and I dare not waste it.

  On my way back to the campsite with my Mountie escort on my heels, the bath’s heat lingered beneath my skin like slowly cooling campfire embers. The cold tried to creep up my sleeves and under my collar, but I kept my hands fisted in my pockets and my face nestled into my jacket. Eyes down, face hidden, I avoided the cold as well as predatory looks from anyone who knew I was one of the men traveling with the gold detector. They didn’t dare approach me now, not when the Mounties threatened to shoot or deport anyone who tried, but they still eyed John and me and whispered behind their hands.

  More than ever, I didn’t relish leaving the encampment.

  At the campsite, my escort continued to the inspection station while I joined John by the tent. It was no surprise to see him beside the fire with his journal on his knee and the rifle leaning against his leg.

  Then he turned to me, and a sly grin spread across his lips.

  I furrowed my brow. “What?”

  “Hmm?” His eyebrows jumped. Then he cleared his throat and shifted the book on his lap. “Nothing. Why?”

  “You looked like you had something on your mind.”

  John laughed softly. “I’m a scientist, Robert. I always have something on my mind.”

  “Yes, but from the look in your eyes, I suspect you weren’t thinking about anything scientific.”

  “What was I thinking, then?”

  “You tell me.”

  He just smiled and returned his gaze to his journal.

  I watched him, wondering what hid in that curious mind of his. Then I shook my head and continued past him to put my things beside my bedroll.